


As the Sun Sets and the Stars Shine

by sunsetdreamsandlittlethings



Category: Fiction - Fandom, None - Fandom
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Love, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4481267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetdreamsandlittlethings/pseuds/sunsetdreamsandlittlethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a girl and a boy (and a cat or two) who share the most intimate of moments each and every day sat outside on their rooftops. Smiles. Laughter. Pain. Hurt. Tears. And love.</p>
<p>Both characters are left unspecified, aside from their gender and occasionally their clothes, leaving it up to you completely how to imagine them. Unusual, yes, but also incredibly magical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Sun Sets and the Stars Shine

It was always as the sun had set. As the moon lit the dimming sky and the stars began to shine through. It was always that time of day, no matter what the time happened to be, summer or winter, that she’d pull up her bedroom window and clamber out onto the porch roof. Dressed comfortably and accordingly - perhaps an over sized, woollen jumper and thick leggings in the depths of coldness; or maybe cotton shorts and a loose crop top in the warm breeze that summer could bring. Either way, she’d be there - sitting, waiting, thinking.

It was always as the sun had set. As the judder of an opening window rumbled through the house across the street. As she was spotted, at a glance, tiptoeing to her favourite spot outside. No matter what time, no matter how dry, how wet, how windy - he’d always do the exact same thing as she did. Pull up his window and creep out to sit on his own porch roof. The roof which was identically small and finished only inches from hers. He’d be there - watching, thinking, dreaming.

Neither one knew who’d started the tradition first, neither knew whether one joined the other on purpose, and if so, which way round was it? All they knew was that it was company. It was company no matter what the situation. If one was in a foul mood, the other knew not to talk; if they were both happy, they’d chat quietly and smile shyly from across from one another; if upset one would console the other. This incredible, magical bond had come from nowhere. But it was the best thing to have ever happened to both of them.

********************

Today was a Tuesday. June 8th, 9:43pm. 

Clad in pale pink cotton pajama shorts dotted with pastel flowers, and a white tank top, she unlatched the window and threw it open. Clambering over her desk, she set both feet on the roof tiles, took three small steps forward and took a seat, knees pressing up into her chest. She’d mastered the skill of not knocking a single thing off the wooden desk which she barely used yet dumped everything on. Impressive, to say the least. She sighed a little, taking in the sight of the sky. 

That’s what she loved the most, the fact that it was different every night. 

Moments later she heard the familiar sound of the window in front of her unlatching, then opening. She didn’t need to look. She knew it was him. She knew he would take three small steps before sitting down. She also knew he was in a good mood. 

Even I wouldn’t be able to tell you how she knew from just seconds of hearing him step outside that he felt that way; or how he could tell that today she was slightly sad, slightly empty, simply from looking at how she gazed at the dim sky - all I know is that they knew each other like the back of their hands. Always had done. Nothing else to it. 

“Got an E in History,” she said, just above a whisper. If you were a passer by, walking through the tired street below, you wouldn’t have heard a single thing. “Timothy broke my CD, it was an accident. But still." 

"The one you brought at the record store last week? Its been on repeat ever since.” There was a slither of humour, he wanted to cheer her up without making her feel unimportant. 

It was a problem of hers - feeling unimportant. She was always important, too important, to him at least. 

She laughed lightly and nodded in reply to his comment. 

Then there was silence for almost a quarter of an hour before she added: “Picasso’s really ill." 

All this time she hadn’t looked at him, and she continued not to. She glanced to the left and bit down on her lip. 

"That fucking sucks." 

She bit down even harder and nodded, the lump rising in her throat. Frustrated that she was about to cry, she shook her head and sniffed. "It’ll be okay.” She muttered this whilst standing up and turning her back on him. Heading inside before he could comfort her properly. 

This was a problem they both shared. Whilst a massive emotional support to one another, they’d never physically touched, never hugged it out, never cried on one another’s shoulders, never held hands and laughed at silly little things. It seemed almost a scary thing to do, like once they made contact reality would cave in, everything would shatter, and they’d be just another boy and girl who attend the same school and have mutual friends. They both knew their bond was different, it was special, and for now, at least, they intended on keeping it that way.

He stayed sat outside a while longer. He watched as she drew her curtains closed, and watched the hazy light beyond them flicker out eventually. She’d gone to bed, and so should he. He nodded, to himself since there was no one else around. Just a couple more minutes - then, bed.

The temperature hadn’t changed at all, yet to him it felt slightly colder now that she’d returned to her bedroom. Her presence was missed. He couldn’t possibly fathom how one person could feel so invisible and unworthy because she just held so much importance, so much value, so much…life. But that’s the funny thing, isn’t it? In being aware of how much one person can mean to you, you often lose sight of your own wealth. And that’s exactly what had happened. To her, he was her everything, but to himself - he was nothing. Really, it’s not funny at all. It’s ironic. But maybe irony isn’t for everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by a picture I saw on tumblr of a cute little street with lots of houses really close, two with roofs almost touching...I felt sad one night and wrote what you've just read.  
> I really hope you enjoyed it and any feedback would be perfect!!!


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